Fallen
by EOlivet
Summary: Max sees the world from Logan's perspective.


Disclaimer: The characters you recognize described herein are the property of James Cameron, Charles Eglee, Cameron/Eglee Productions and Twentieth Century Fox. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Warning: I make no claims about the scientific or medical accuracy about the events described here. These assertions are based on the American Medical Association Encylopedia of Medicine and could possibly contain no basis in fact. Also, I started this story before "Rising", "Female Trouble", or any of season one, so the themes in here that may remind you of past episodes are purely coincidental.  
  
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Jenn and Nikki -- I borrowed the Max-sits-in-Logan's-lap idea from your incredible "Dangerous Games" fic. Special thanks to Anna for her encouragement. Lyrics quoted written by Alain Boubil and Claude-Michel Schonberg. Oh -- and I borrowed my fictional characters' names from them, too.  
  
Rating: TV-14 for "mature elements." Romance ahead, but not for a while...  
***  
Fallen  
***  
"Watch your back."  
  
Max turned slightly, her hand on the door handle, and gave Logan Cale, her aspiring protector, a warm smirk. It was just another mercy mission. Somebody was in trouble, somebody needed saving. Bad things were happening to good people. Clean up the dirtbags and that sort of thing.  
  
It wasn't even as if these villians startled her. They were exactly where Logan said they would be. They were wholly unimpressed with her, as usual, and figured this was just another headstrong runaway sticking her nose where it didn't belong. There were plenty of those to go around. Hell, Seattle practically bred them.  
  
The handling of the villians was running its course, as well. Five of them had surrounded Max -- one landed in a dumpster, a second against a fence, the third in an alley.  
  
The fourth had run out into the street, around the corner, and she had gone around the back way, jumping down from a fire escape in front of him. He lunged at her, she pinned his arms, and leapt into the air to lateral him back towards the others.  
  
As her feet left the ground, the scene seemed to slow down. She had lifted the fourth one over her head and was winding up to pitch him backward when it happened.  
  
The fifth one, who'd been hiding behind the corner with a gun. And the bullet.  
  
Time seemed to stop completely as Max felt the bullet pierce her back, shattering flesh and bone a split second before the pain kicked in. Her hands went limp and the fourth villian dropped harmlessly in front of her. She folded in half, head first into the dusty ground, her feet finally clattering down into the dirt. The pain was blinding and her vision blurred, obscured by dust, as she saw the remaining two villians scamper down the street. Max opened her mouth to cry out, but her vocal cords failed her. The dusty sight spun before her, though she hadn't moved, stretching out toward her and finally enveloping her in its blackness.  
***  
Thuy hurried through the crowded streets, picking up her skirts to free her feet. It had not been a good week for her suppliers, with the city now cracking down on the astronomical theft rate purely for political gain. Large rewards had been offered, and informants were crawling out of the woodwork to give up their nearest and dearest just for a cut. Several well-known suppliers had been raided in the past week. Thuy could not afford to miss this appointment, and she knew he would only wait for fifteen minutes before leaving. With the way business was going, who could tell if he'd be back the next week.  
  
A stray piece of her skirt caught in the sewer grate, and Thuy stopped to disentangle herself. As she leaned down, her eyes lit upon the dark mass of wavy hair peeking out from behind the next corner. Thuy paused for a moment and then hurried around the corner to investigate.  
  
It was a girl lying in the street. Her clothes were covered in blood that streamed out from a hole in her back. This girl had been shot. Thuy gently turned the girl over to check for signs of life, when she gasped. This was the dark-haired girl who bought Tryptophan! One of her best customers.  
  
Thuy shook the girl's shoulder. "Hello...can you hear me?" she asked. The girl did not respond.  
  
Not waiting any longer, Thuy removed the identification tag sticking out of the girl's vest. "Max," she addressed the girl. "Max, can you hear me?"  
  
Thuy was torn. Max needed urgent medical care or the girl would surely die -- by now, it might even be too late. But, Thuy was carrying some Prozac from her last supplier, and if she flagged down a police officer to call an ambulance, they might search her and then she'd be arrested.  
  
Making a split second decision, Thuy grabbed Max's identification tag and ran back out into the street a few blocks, turning the corner and climbing down a long set of stairs to meet her next supplier in a deserted alleyway.  
  
A man leaned against the far corner of the building, his arms folded across his chest. "Thuy, I almost went home," he scolded the middlewoman.  
  
"Tam, I need to borrow your phone. There's a girl back a couple blocks in great trouble. She's been shot and she's dying."  
  
Tam stepped back. "Don't call the hospital, they'll arrest us all!" he warned her.  
  
"No, of course not! I have her work number right here. Please, Tam -- she doesn't have much time!"  
  
The supplier seemed to consider this a minute, and held his phone away from the desperate woman. Finally, he relented. "Fine. But it'll cost you half a bottle of Demerol."  
  
Thuy grabbed the phone and anxiously dialed the number she'd found on the identification tag. It rang twice.  
  
"Jam Pony Messenger Service since 1999," barked the voice on the other end of the phone.  
  
"I need you to call an ambulance," pleaded Thuy. "Your girl Max has been shot."  
  
There was an exagerrated sigh. "Right, Max has been shot. The same day she had a dentist appointment, an out-of-town relative visiting and her interview for Queen of the Rose Parade."  
  
"Please, she needs help!" Thuy glanced briefly at Tam, who was eyeing her use of the phone.  
  
"Well, answer me this -- if Max has really been shot, then why aren't you calling the ambulance yourself?" The man's voice was curt and dripped with sarcasm.  
  
"She's dying."  
  
There was a period of silence and then the voice hesitantly came back. "That's a pretty lame excuse," the man rejoined, though he had lost some of his conviction.  
  
"I'm not kidding, I swear to you. Listen to me," Thuy implored. "She needs a doctor quickly...she's covered in blood...she won't last much longer."  
  
Normal listened to the woman's pleas, and kept the phone to his ear, but his glance soon turned to the man weaving his way through the messenger traffic permeating Jam Pony, and approaching the desk.  
  
"Have you seen Max?" the man asked, a little anxiously. "Has she come in yet?"  
  
Slowly, Normal moved the phone away from his ear and handed the receiver to the man in the wheelchair in front of him. "Here," he said, simply. "I think it's for you."  
***  
It was strangely empty when she opened her eyes. There was nothing familiar, yet nothing that alarmed her, either. She didn't recognize the walls. They lacked the dingy paint job of her apartment. But they were too industrial to be Logan's place.  
  
Suddenly, fear gripped her throat and she tried to sit up, but was pinned back down by her own weak body. Her eyes darted around the room and ran into...  
  
"Bling?" Max tried to speak, but her voice came out like a whisper.  
  
The man smiled in response, and another familiar face appeared. "Max."  
  
This time, Max smiled. Logan was sitting beside her. "How..." she trailed off, finding the words to difficult to form.  
  
"Coincidence, actually," he answered her. "You hadn't come back, so I didn't know if you'd gotten beeped to Jam Pony. I arrived the same time your boss was taking a call from a woman who'd found you. She got the Jam Pony number off your identification badge."  
  
Max took all this in with her eyes, and her lips moved again. "Where..."  
  
He raised his eyebrows slightly. "I'm surprised you don't recognize the place. Does it really look that different in the springtime?"  
  
Her brain worked feverishly to identify her location. Slowly, she took in her surroundings. A modestly furnished room, wooden ceilings, a window. Pine trees. "Cabin," she breathed softly, followed by a fit of coughing.  
  
Logan produced a glass of water, poured from the pitcher on the night table next to where she was resting. He handed the glass to Max, who reached for it with trembling fingers. When had it become so hard to lift her own hand? The glass tumbled out of her hand and water streamed down her front, dampening the bedclothes. She looked at Logan with a mix of fear and confusion.  
  
He seemed to shrug it off, pouring her a second glass and holding it up to her lips this time. He supported the side of her face with his hand, while he offered the water for her to drink. Max's lips moved again, instinctively seeking out the water in the glass. The liquid cooled her parched throat and soothed her. When her throat felt well enough to talk, she looked up once again."What...happened...to me?"  
  
Logan looked at the ground for a moment, seeking guidance. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers. "You got shot, Max," he told her.  
  
Disbelief flickered in her eyes, and for a second, he saw one of those patented Logan-you're-crazy looks creep across her face. Then, he saw her hand touch her stomach and feel the texture of the bandages. A sweep across her middle revealed they continued, wrapping all the way around her.  
  
She leaned forward to see if the wounds extended further, when she felt it. Nothing. Feverishly, she touched her legs with extended fingers to try and capture the slightest sensation. Max turnedback to Logan, terrified. "What...happened to me?" she asked again.  
  
He reached for one of those errant hands and tried his best to hold it together. "We took you to the hospital...we had to, Max -- you'd just been shot. I got Dr. Carr to see you, he did some tests." He paused, trying to maintain his focus on the girl in front of him. "See, the bullet...hit you, but for some reason...it fell out. But, the force of the impact, um..." He took a breath. "Well, it affected your spinal cord and..."  
  
Max held his gaze, considering this for a minute. "I'm...not...I mean, I can still walk and  
everything, right?"  
  
Logan didn't answer.  
  
This unnerved her even more and she began squirming around, trying to get up. She swung her legs off the side of the bed, and Logan wheeled around to cut her off. "Max -- you don't want to do that. You, uh...still need your rest."  
  
Max considered this for a moment. "Okay," she assented, utterly exhausted by the whole process anyway. "Okay." She leaned back on the pillow that had been propped up for her. "Pain killers...probably haven't worn off yet, so..." She shrugged. "Legs are still numb."  
  
Logan nodded, though he looked like he didn't hear a word of what she just said. He then leaned over and gently stroked her hair. "Get some rest."  
  
Agreeing wholeheartedly, she closed her eyes, the peaceful motion of Logan's fingers through her hair silently lulling her to sleep.  
***  
Max's eyes flew open as if she'd been shot again. She took in her surroundings, and  
remembered where she was. Logan's family cabin. Far away from anyone with guns, or so she hoped. But, the feeling lingered -- that chilling, bone-crushing feeling she'd felt once before.  
  
Pain. She wasn't used to pain. Her seizures had made her sick, and she certainly had a few close calls on her bike, but nothing like gripping, wrenching pain that was compressing her body.  
  
Desperately, she tried to remember how her Manticore training had prepared her for this  
situation. Focus on something else. Don't dwell on the pain. Don't let the enemy see that you're hurt.  
  
But, it was too much, and she winced, pressing her lips together to keep something akin to a moan from escaping. The pain squeezed her even more tightly, and Max began to feel nauseous.  
  
As if on cue, Logan appeared in the doorway. "Hey -- I was wondering when you'd wake up." She couldn't even respond, keeping her mouth shut and trying to concentrate on something -- anything else but the pain.  
  
He read her eyes and quickly wheeled over to the side of the bed. "Pain medication wore off," he remarked, both a question and a statement, yet his tone soothed her. He handed her four small pills and poured her another glass of water. "Analgesics," he explained. "Help to bring you back down."  
  
Max grabbed the pills out of his hand and dumped them in her mouth, then took the glass and gulped down the water. It was probably psychosomatic, but somehow just taking the medication made her feel better. After she'd regained her equilibrium, she gave him a small smile."Thanks."  
  
Logan held her gaze for a minute, before returning to a more business-like tone. "I have informed your employer that you will be taking a few days off and Kendra is also aware that I've taken you up to the cabin. She didn't ask questions."  
  
"I'll bet she didn't." Max couldn't help thinking how her semi-promiscuous roommate might interpret such a general statement.  
  
If he understood what she was saying, it didn't show. "So, now your job is simply to rest and get better."  
  
She nodded, then settled back down onto her pillow. "Logan, you didn't happen to swipe my bike up here, did you?"  
  
"No..."  
  
Sighing, Max replied, "Too bad. I'd have loved to see how she handles on all this rough terrain."  
  
Something flickered in Logan's eyes for a minute, but quickly disappeared. "Just keep resting, Max," he murmured. "That's the best thing for you right now."  
  
She smiled at him and then closed her eyes. He stared at her for a moment, before wheeling out to the doorway and into the hall. Leaning back, she once again drifted off to sleep, dreaming of riding motorcycles and other things they could do at the cabin.  
***  
Not realizing how tiring pain can be, Max slept for most of the afternoon. As sleep began to fall away from her, she rolled over and stepped leisurely out of bed...onto nothing.  
The air lost its footing and without it, she toppled forward.  
  
Bling must've heard her fall, because immediately, she heard footsteps approach, and he was kneeling down beside her. "Max, are you okay?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Logan arrive at the doorway. "What happened?" he  
questioned the other man.  
  
Max was lying prostrate on the floor, though the expression on her face told the world this was not voluntary. She was struggling to get up and Bling was helping to support her.  
"My legs are still numb," she declared, hinting at an accusatory tone. Her eyes fixed on Logan's as Bling finally pried her from the floor and lifted her back into bed.  
  
Not wanting to deal with what she'd just discovered, Logan took a different tact. "What were you doing out of bed? Didn't I tell you to rest?"  
  
"I had to go to the bathroom. Is that okay?" she shot back.  
  
He sighed. "You should've asked Bling for help," he mumbled, not sure how to respond.  
  
"Asked...what...I...?" She was breathing heavily now, and he saw that look of determination.  
  
Quickly, Logan wheeled around the bed to once again cut her off. "Max--" he started.  
  
"What are you doing? Get out of my way," she ordered, using what was left of that genetically-enhanced strength to push him towards the wall.  
  
Bling quietly took Logan's place, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Come on, Max," he said, quietly.  
  
But, he too had forgotten her will, as she shoved him back towards the window. Her objective completed, she tried once again to get out of bed, swinging her legs around, and then pitching forward onto the floor as if they weren't even there.  
  
Max glared at each of them, especially at Logan. She propelled herself forward with her arms, clawing and grabbing at the floor to move herself along. Her hospital gown they'd let her keep as a souvenir bunched up beneath her, impeding her progress.  
  
Logan could hardly watch, but forced himself to meet her in the middle of the floor, where she now lay with her head down, her arms out limply in front of her.  
  
She grabbed onto the wheels of his chair with all the strength she had left and slowly raised her head up. She said nothing, just looked at him -- sweat beading on her forehead -- tired, disgusted and humiliated.  
  
Her eyes spoke the question, and he figured she deserved an explanation. "Max, you have a disk prolapse. Usually, they're quite common but..." He looked away for a minute, glancing in Bling's direction.  
  
Slowly, the other man stepped out of the corner and lifted an exhausted Max into his arms, carrying her back to the bed. "There we go, now," Bling soothed her. For once, she did not protest.  
  
Logan approached the bed and reached for Max's hand. "The force of the bullet...compressed a disk in your back, putting pressure on the spinal cord. Dr. Carr said he's never seen a bullet do that, but, uh..." He paused, gently brushing the sweat-soaked hair out of her face. "You need to get plenty of rest, lie flat on your back. And..." This he could not bring himself to say to her face. Softly, he finished his sentence to the ground,"You...may not...be able to, uh...use your legs for a while."  
  
Her expression did not change. She stared at the ceiling, completely motionless. Then, she closed her eyes. A half-smile crossed her lips, and she sat up and looked at Logan. "He's wrong."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"That's ridiculous," she said. The old defiance was back in her eyes, and for a moment, the scene was almost familiar -- she with her with her hands on her hips, staring him down when she wanted things to go her way.  
  
"What, uh, what makes you say that?" he asked as neutrally as he could.  
  
"Because I can walk," Max told him calmly. "I can walk, I can run, I can jump ten feet in the air. You forget these are Manticore genes you're dealing with. Not exactly the good doctor's line of work," she continued, almost lightheartedly. "This is just my body's way of saying slow down -- I can deal. Not like it's permanent or anything."  
  
For a long time, Logan could not respond. It now seemed pointless to try and convince her otherwise. "Rest up then, Max," he murmured, dropping her hand and turning himself towards the door.  
  
"Logan," she called after him. He slowly turned around. "Don't get too settled in. I'll be up taking advantage of cabin life in no time." And for a second, he saw that old sparkle radiating from her.  
  
Nodding, he headed out the door, leaving her to stare at the ceiling, her eyes completely open, her demeanor completely calm while she tried to push the horrible truths she'd just heard as far back into her head as possible.  
***  
The next morning when Max woke up, Logan was there to greet her. "Hiya," he said, pleasantly.  
  
She smiled. "Hey."  
  
"Hope you're hungry. Eggs benedict, sausage and black market crumpets await you in the  
kitchen."  
  
Max threw back the covers. "You're speaking my language." As she leaned forward, the pain kicked in again, and she winced, holding her stomach where the bandages covered her.  
  
He wheeled in closer to her. "Hey, hey -- easy there." Before she could say anything more, he had reached forward and pulled her onto his lap. "Next stop...the kitchen" he announced with all the authority of an authentic pre-Pulse train operator.  
  
She couldn't help but smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. All of a sudden, she felt tired again. It was an odd sensation, being wheeled around, but Logan was being so nice -- escorting her to the kitchen and preparing what she was sure would be a delectable breakfast. They left her bedroom and journeyed down the hall.  
  
He stopped at the nearest kitchen chair and as he was going to help her off his lap, she leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek. "I could get used to cabin life," she murmured, as he settled her in. He'd piled sofa cushions onto the chair to support her back and prevent her from slipping. If she noticed, she chose to keep it to herself.  
  
Logan arrived at his place at the table and smiled at his guest. "Eat up," he told her.  
  
As she picked up her fork to take the first bite, the door slammed. Logan sat bolt upright and immediately left the table. "What's wrong?" asked Max, concerned.  
  
"It's just Bling," he replied, curtly, disappearing down the hallway.  
  
She could hear the sound of Bling's footsteps coming around the corner and Logan wheeling in the opposite direction down the hall.  
  
"Logan, should I put it--" Bling stopped abruptly when he saw Max.  
  
Max stared at him, the fork dropping out of her hand and clattering against the hardwood of the table. In his arms, Bling was carrying a wheelchair. "Hey, Max," he managed, weakly. "Did you sleep well?"  
  
Her eyes shifted to Logan, who had returned and was now in the kitchen doorway. She was silent, but her cheery countenance had been replaced by a dark look. Nobody spoke.  
  
CRASH! Max whipped her arm under the kitchen table and turned it upside down, sending plates, glasses and a mess of food to the floor. "What...the hell...is that?" she demanded, breathing heavily.  
  
Logan came forward and put on his best no-nonsense look. "This is for you," he told her, trying to remain calm in the face of impending chaos. "For you to get around until your legs feel better."  
  
Her eyes blazed and she lunged at him, but he grabbed her shoulders before she hit the floor. "Let me go!" Her strength waning, she struggled for a while in his grip until she forced him to release her. With nothing to support herself, she tumbled out of the chair.  
Reverting to animal instinct, she crawled to a neutral corner of the room while she stared Logan down. "You lied to me," she seethed. Erupting again, she picked up a partially broken plate and hurled it towards him. It landed two feet in front of her. "You don't go out and get somebody a wheelchair 'until their legs feel better,'" she spat out. "Am I going to walk again? Tell me the truth!"  
  
His tone remained even and forced. "Dr. Carr said the bullet damaged your spinal cord. Usually, disk prolapses heal, but in this case..." He had to pause and weigh his words carefully. "The doctor thought that might be unlikely."  
  
"Might be unlikely?" she repeated, picking up another plate and futilely tossing it in Logan's general direction. "This--this is all your fault!" She tried to fling herself across the room at him, but landed with a thud on her stomach. "You send me out on these mercy missions, to do your dirty work 'cause it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You don't give a damn what happens to me as long as the world is safe from the bad guys at the end of the day." She paused, the strain of her animosity causing a fit of coughing.   
  
Logan still said nothing.  
  
"I think deep down you wanted this to happen!" she accused him.  
  
That couldn't go by without a response. "Max, I've never wanted that," he replied.  
  
"God, are you that desperate for companionship? I wouldn't be surprised if you planned the shooting yourself. Create yourself a mate, huh? What, was I not good enough for you with my legs intact?"  
  
Bling, who had safely stored the chair away, returned to the kitchen. "Max, why don't I take you back to your room?" He knelt down beside the girl, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.  
  
Max shrugged it away. "No!" she snapped. "I'm sick of everyone saying that. 'Max, you're tired.' 'Max, you should get some rest.' 'Max, go to sleep.' Why? Are my legs magically going to work when I wake up?"  
  
But, Bling was persistent. "Come on," he suggested again, now gathering her into his arms.  
  
This time, she assented, too tired to continue on her tirade, but she glanced over Bling's  
shoulder at Logan as she was carried out of the room. "Isn't it funny," she remarked, acidly. "Now, you've got someone just like you, and yet you're still alone."  
  
Logan waited until Bling had taken Max back to her room before surveying the damage that had been done to the kitchen. He looked at the mess on the floor and then back towards the hallway.  
  
Reaching down, he managed to pick up a sliver of a plate and stared at it, intently. She was partially right. His reflection stared back at him, and he was alone.  
***  
Max had locked herself in her room for the whole day. She took out her remaining aggression on the lamp on her bedside table and then lay on her bed, seething. He was enjoying this -- watching her like this. He got her a chair she didn't need. She wasn't like him.  
  
That got her thinking. She wasn't like him. Inspired, she waited until she heard Bling pass her door. "Bling, can you help me?" she called.  
  
The door opened and he stood in the doorway, almost unsure as to whether or not to come inside.  
  
Max continued. "I want to do some research on the 'net, but the computer's in the other room and you've carried me enough today as it is." She paused. "Can you hook me up with that chair Logan got for me?"  
  
"Uh...sure. Wait here," Bling stammered. He disappeared, returning shortly with the dreaded chair.  
  
Swallowing her pride, she let Bling lift her arms, dragging her currently useless legs just inches off the floor. She sat in the chair and looked around for a minute. This is how Logan sees the world, she thought. This is the view from down here.  
  
She shrugged it off and sat back. Bling came around behind her and began pushing the chair across the floor. Max was accutely aware of the vibrations from the wheels as they manuevered over the wooden surface. It was amazing and terrifying all at the same time.  
  
They came to a stop in the computer room and Max went to work, feverishly typing in all sorts of information, scanning it, then closing the windows and moving on to the next task. Bling watched with interest. "What are you looking for?"  
  
She kept her eyes on the screen. "Manticore's alterations on our nerve cells. I think the drugs might have something to do with it." She read a passage of text, then shook her head. "There's got to be something -- some enzyme, some chemical reaction." Sighing, she looked up at Bling."The analgesics are doing something to my nerve cells. I mean, that's the only explanation -- Manticore designed us so we'd heal faster and it's been two days now."  
  
Bling paused a moment before answering "You were shot, Max." Then, he quickly added "You know, we should start you on a program of physical therapy -- that'll keep your legs strong and healthy."  
  
She considered this a minute, then shrugged, smiling slightly. "Okay. A combination of those exercises and going off the pills should decrease the healing time. I just need to change." She indicated her hospital gown.  
  
"Max -- that doesn't mean you should stop taking your pills. You were severely injured and your wounds haven't completely healed yet."  
  
But, Max barely heard him as he took her back to her room. He helped her put on sweatpants and a T-shirt, and then wheeled her back out into the hallway. When she saw Logan in the kitchen, she smiled. No sense in holding grudges.  
  
"Where are you going all dressed up?" Logan asked her, lightly.  
  
She looked up at Bling and then back at Logan. "We're going to do some physical therapy. Bling says it'll help my legs get stronger."  
  
"He's right."  
  
Max leaned back in the chair a moment before speaking. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be doing this stuff, too? You should join us...unless you want me to show you up."  
  
Never one to back down from such a light-hearted challenge, he gave her a look that indicated he was game. "Just let me get changed," he said, wheeling himself down the hallway.  
  
She stared after him and smiled, but that soon faded as she felt the pain from her wound  
returning. She tried to hide it from Bling, but the look on her face gave herself away.  
  
"Let me get your pills," Bling suggested, but Max put a firm hand on his arm.  
  
She shook her head. "No..." she insisted. "The pills numb the pain..."  
  
"That's what they're supposed to do," Bling told her.  
  
She bit down on her lip to keep from groaning, and managed to finish her sentence "Maybe they numb my legs, as well."  
  
The man shook his head. "Max, the lack of feeling in your legs has nothing to do with the pain in your back. The pills don't affect your spinal cord."  
  
"You don't...know," she told him. "Nobody knows...maybe they do...affect things in my body." She paused, closing her eyes tightly to try and draw her focus away from the pain. "Like I said...it's a...chemical reaction..."  
  
Logan came back into the room, dressed as Max was for physical therapy. He turned to Bling, confused when he saw Max clutching her stomach. "Where are her pills?" he asked.  
  
She looked up at Logan. "No...pills..." she managed.  
  
"Max thinks that by taking the analgesics to numb the pain in her back, they are somehow numbing her spinal cord as well," Bling explained. "So, if she doesn't take the pills, maybe the feeling in her legs will come back."  
  
Trying with all her might, she plastered on a weak smile. "I'm...fine..." she declared. "Let's...go..."  
  
Bling and Logan exchanged a look.There was no use arguing with Max, even a sick Max, once she'd made up her mind. Logan led the way down the hallway around the corner to the den where a makeshift gym had been set up. Bling had brought the equipment from the apartment.  
  
The man first helped Logan out of his chair, and then helped Max, who by now was doubled over in pain. She still did manage a half-smile of appreciation for her makeshift personal trainer.  
  
"We'll start with ten reps," he said, kneeling down next to Max. "I'm going to extend your leg and lift it. This exercises your muscles and keeps them healthy. It might sting a little bit, so just tell me when to stop, okay?"  
  
Max nodded, and Logan watched as Bling started to lift her leg. Pain shot up her back and a small cry escaped her lips.  
  
"Do you want to stop?" Bling asked her.  
  
She shook her head vehemently. Again, Bling lifted her leg, and Max bit down on her lip. The pain was convulsing through her entire body and she felt surrounded by it. One...two...three...She forced herself to open her eyes and stare straight ahead. Four...five...six... She'd been trained for this. Seven...eight...nine... The room spun before her eyes and supporting her head on top of her shoulders became a monumental task.  
  
"Ten." Bling set her leg back down.  
  
Through the intense, slashing pain, Max forced words out of her mouth. "Keep. Going."  
  
"We're done with that leg...that leg...that leg..." Bling's hollow voice echoed against her ears.  
  
"More," she whispered, closing her eyes as the room spun before her. Round and around and around.  
  
"For...God's...sake...I'm...getting...her...pills..." Logan's voice was in slow-motion.  
  
Max felt her legs still, and she struggled to keep her balance, gripping the sides of the mat with white kunckles. "Moremoremore," she pleaded, the words slurring together."Needmoregetbetter."  
  
Logan came back in the room to be greeted by a ghost-faced Max, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, her head slumping forward. Bling supported her shoulders. "She's passed out," the man said, grabbing the glass of water from Logan's hand and tossing it onto Max.  
  
Her eyes opened slightly, as Bling opened her mouth and shoved the pills back into her throat. Reflexively, she swallowed.  
  
"Max, are you okay?" Logan touched her shoulder.  
  
She opened her eyes more fully and stared at him. "It's...no...use..." Her voice broke and for the first time, a tear fell down her cheek.  
  
Bling helped Max back into her chair, as the girl's face crumpled and more tears drenched her cheeks. Logan followed the two of them down the hallway into Max's room, where Bling helped her into bed. She was still inconsolable.  
  
When Bling left the room, Logan approached her. She was staring up at the ceiling and crying. Her shoulders were shaking with the force of her sobs. He tried to soothe her. "It's okay," he murmured, stroking her hair.  
  
She stiffened at his touch and turned her face away from him. "Just go away," she whispered.  
  
"Max, it's not your fault," he tried assuring her.  
  
"Just please leave," she begged. "Logan...please."  
  
"I'm not--" he started.  
  
Finally, she turned and looked at him. "I don't want to see you right now," she managed, her face crumpling once again. "Please...go."  
  
There was nothing he could do. When she was sure he'd exited the room, she let down her guard, sobbing forcefully into her pillow. Her legs were gone, and she mourned for them.  
***  
Max refused to eat that night or the next morning. All she did was drink water, take her  
analgesics and stare at the ceiling. It was like she had gone into her body, and left the outside world with a single expression plastered onto her face to maintain appearances. If possible, she probably would've also taken that expression with her, and left her face completely blank.  
  
She had also given up speaking. Logan had come in numerous times to talk to her, but always ended up having a conversation with the wall. After a while, he stopped trying. She would talk when she was ready.  
  
But, now it was one full day after her breakdown, and she hadn't eaten any solid food since. Maybe it was time to be firm with her. Tell her to stop feeling sorry for herself and rejoin the land of the living. And if she just sat there and took it, instead of defending herself? Well, then he'd feel even worse.  
  
Still, something had to be said, and maybe he could reason with her. Figuring he owed her at least another chance, Logan approached her bedroom door and knocked lightly. "Max," he called.  
  
No answer.  
  
He knocked again. "Max," he said, a little louder.  
  
Still nothing.  
  
"I'm going to come in now, okay," he informed her, slowly opening the door and peering inside.  
  
Max was not in her bed. However, the bed clothes were pulled up and the pillows arranged neatly on top of the bedspread. And the wheel of the wheelchair was sticking out of the small bathroom doorway in the back righthand corner of the room.  
  
The door was ajar, so Logan went over to investigate. Max's wheelchair was propping open the bathroom door, but it was empty. Max was curled up on the floor, shaking -- sweat pouring off her forehead, eyes staring into space.  
  
"Max!" As quickly as he could, he wheeled her chair out of the way to allow him greater access. "I'll be right back, okay?" he assured her, leaning over and gently touching the side of her face. Then, he bolted out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and down the hallway into the living room by the door. Before they'd left for the cabin, he'd made sure to stop by Max's apartment and get her tryptophan pills. Now, he hurried back with them in tow. Struggling slightly with the bottle's cap, he dumped five or six pills out and placed them in Max's hand.  
  
She let them drop to the floor. Ping, ping, ping, pingping...  
  
"Max, these are the tryptophan."  
  
She shook her head.  
  
He sighed, dumping five or six more into his hand. "They aren't your analgesics and they have nothing to do with your legs working or not."  
  
Max's head jerked from side to side, almost involuntarily. She opened her mouth to say  
something and let it hang open for a moment before she attempted to speak again, forcing the words out in short bursts of air. "I...want...to... die."  
  
Her fists were balled up against her chest, and he noticed the bottom of one of her hands was covered in cuts. Logan pried that hand open, finding an unused razor blade. He felt his throat start to close up, as he realized it must've scraped against her hand when she started to seize. The seizure might have saved her life.  
  
Quickly, he took the blade from her, throwing it into the wastebasket. "You don't mean that," he managed, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her.  
  
"I'm no good," she uttered in a moment uninterrupted by her shaking. "No use to...anyone...like this."  
  
Pitching forward, Logan fell purposefully from his wheelchair beside her. "That's not true," he told her, trying to gather her into his arms.  
  
"I can't...do my job..." She shied away from his touch, but then turned and looked directly at him. "Can't...ride...without legs." Her look softened, her voice breaking slightly. "I can't...help you...if neither of us...has legs."  
  
Logan could feel his voice starting to break as he answered her. "You don't...really believe that, do you, Max?"  
  
A single tear broke loose and slid down her cheek as she finally crawled over to him, resting her head on his lap. "I can't...help you anymore," she repeated, her body continuing to convulse as her seizure intensified. "Can't...fight...can't...win."  
  
"And I can't do it without you," he pleaded, his eyes fixed on hers. "You're not just a genetically-engineered weapon -- you know that. You can still fight in a different way, if you don't give up." He paused, trying to focus and reign in his emotions. "Fight for yourself, Max. You fight for everyone else every day of your life. But for once, fight for yourself. Because you're worth fighting for."  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes starting to glaze over from the seizure. "F-f-fight..." she  
murmured, trying to keep her eyes open. "Fight..." she repeated weakly, but with more force than before. Her hand now shot out to feel for the pills on the floor.  
  
Logan saw what she was doing and grabbed her hand, dumping several more pills into it. She brought her shaking hand up to her mouth, but the pills spilled out with the force of her convulsions. He placed his hands over hers and helped guide the pills to her mouth. She swallowed them quickly and reached for more. Again, he fed her the precious tryptophan. After the third dose, Max's seizure began to dissipate. Gradually, her shaking slowed and her breathing returned to normal.  
  
Max raised her head and looked up at him with heavy eyelids. "Thankyou..." she breathed, before closing her eyes and resting back on his lap.  
  
Arms wrapped around her, Logan let her sleep. Bling found the two of them sitting on the floor, a mess of entangled limbs, spilled pills and heavy hearts. The man bandaged Max's hand and carried her back to bed, before helping Logan back into his chair.  
  
The girl slept, oblivious to the world, but for once, Logan did not leave. He had wondered why he'd almost unconsciously avoided her before, but perhaps now he knew. He had been afraid to see her helpless. He never liked to think of her as weak and unable to fend for herself. She was strong and brave and fearless. Unlike him.  
  
But, if Max was willing to fight for herself, then he too could fight for her.  
***  
After a few hours, Max was awakened by her wound's dull pain. She took her analgesics and contemplated what had happened. She had really wanted to die.  
  
She remembered telling Bling she wanted to take a bath, and him helping her into her chair, wheeling her into the bathroom. She knew that was a lie the minute the words had left her mouth, but she hadn't stopped herself. Once he'd shut the door behind her, she splashed some water on her face and idly opened the medicine cabinet. She was looking for some stronger pills when she saw the razor blades. Eight of them in a package that had never been opened -- almost like they were waiting for her. It was a sign, and everything suddenly seemed so clear.  
  
She remembered tearing open the package and holding a blade in her hand. She remembered pulling back her wheelchair and purposefully falling onto the floor. As she'd looked at the shiny metal blade, her hand began to shake as she started seizing. The rest was pretty much a blur.  
  
Max looked at her bandaged hand. She didn't remember cutting it. All she could remember was wanting to die.  
  
Now, for the first time since she'd first awakened in the cabin, she didn't know how to feel. She wasn't empty or confused or upset or angry or depressed. She felt...fine.  
  
She began to notice things around the cabin that she'd overlooked these last few days. The quilt that covered her looked hand-stitched. The window next to her bed showed the sun just setting beyond the forrest. The cabin smelled faintly musty, accented with the smell of food. It was dinnertime and she was hungry.  
  
Max started to get up when she noticed her hair. It was greasier than normal when it brushed against her face. She also realized she hadn't really bathed since she got here three days ago.  
  
Perhaps there was some truth to that lie she'd told Bling this morning. Subconsciously, she had wanted to cleanse herself -- one way or another.  
  
As if reading her mind, Bling walked by her door and she called to him. "What's up, Max?" he asked, approaching her bed.  
  
"I, uh...need to take a bath...for real, this time," she explained. "Could you...help me?"  
  
Bling smiled at her obvious embarassment, but immediately complied. Once he'd drawn her a bath, he helped her get into the tub. And after she'd luxuriated enough in the warm water and washed those three days out of her hair, he helped her get out. Once she'd dried off and wrapped herself in the towel, he wheeled her back into her room.  
  
"You're going to have to learn how to move yourself along in the chair," Bling told her. "Logan gave me the night off."  
  
Max looked up, startled. She did not respond.  
  
Bling indicated the duffel bag beside her bed. "Clothes are in there. Just yell when you're ready." He then closed the door on his way out, leaving her to ponder the situation.  
  
She rifled through the bag that Logan had brought for her, and smiled when she thought of the scene that must've transpired: Logan haphazardly throwing clothes into a bag, not wanting to spend too much time on the task, with Kendra watching eagerly from the doorway -- assigning some hidden meaning to every item he selected. Max wished she'd been there to see it.  
  
She struggled with her clothes until she finally gave up and called Bling back in. He helped her finish getting dressed and assisted her to her wheelchair.  
  
Max rested her hands on the top of the wheels. She pushed forward with all her might and sent the wheelchair crashing into the wall. "Don't know my own strength," she muttered, before applying a slightly lighter touch and manuevering her way out of the room. She turned down the hallway, hearing Bling walking steadily behind her. Logan was putting plates on the table when she wheeled into the kitchen.  
  
He stopped and looked at her. He didn't say anything for a long time, just stared at her almost as if he couldn't believe the sight before him. "I got here all by myself," she told him, lightly. "Bling didn't help me or anything."  
  
Logan didn't speak for a moment before responding "Good -- you can help me with dinner." He seemed to have snapped out of his reverie. Wheeling over to where she had situated herself, he handed her several pieces of silverware. "Here -- make yourself useful."  
  
Bling glanced at the two of them. "Well, I'm gonna get going" he said to no one in particular. "I'm taking the cell phone in case you need to reach me." Unable to elicit a response from either of them, Bling left the room and minutes later, they heard the door close behind him.  
  
"How's he gonna get anywhere -- all he's got is your car?" Max asked quietly, still holding  
Logan's gaze.  
  
"He's become incredibly adept at the art of hand controlled-driving," Logan replied, not taking his eyes off her either. Slowly, he approached her. "You look...great." He caught himself. "That is, uh, not to say that you didn't before, but-- or that I like seeing you this way -- I mean--"  
  
In spite of herself, Max laughed softly. That halted his stammering. "What's for dinner?" she asked him, the question coming out lower than she'd intended.  
  
He hesitated for a minute, then wheeled over to the stove, indicating Max should join him. Placing the silverware in a pile on the table, she gripped the wheels of her chair and awkwardly pushed herself forward, not wanting to slam into a wall like she had before. This time the chair barely moved.  
  
Logan turned around at the stove and Max was still back at the table. She put on a look of  
disinterest. "I don't need to see it -- you can just tell me."  
  
He came over to where she was and looked at her pointedly. "Max, if you need help, just say so," he told her, lightly.  
  
She gave up, slamming her hands on the arms of the chair in frustration. "I need my  
transportation to be turbo-charged -- I can't take all this effort."  
  
Wheeling his chair in front of hers, he leaned forward to address her. "Put your hands on the wheels," he told her, and she complied. "Now, it's all in the technique. Grip the undersides of the wheels like this." He placed his hand over hers to demonstrate. "And use these fingers as resistance. The key is just the right amount of pressure so..." With his help, the chair slid forward, bumping into Logan's chair. "You try it," he told her.  
  
Max never let her gaze leave his. "You need to..." she trailed off, her eyes now glancing to the side to indicate the hold he still had on her hand and her chair.  
  
A little embarassed, Logan removed his hand from hers, and moved his chair off to the side. Max gripped both wheels, determined to maneuver the chair herself. She adjusted her hand position and when she was satisfied, she pushed across the wheels, taking herself and the chair a good foot across the hardwood.  
  
"I think she's got it," declared Logan in his best British accent.  
  
Her smile lit up her entire body as she looked at him, clearly pleased at her accomplishment. "Helps to have the right teacher," she replied.  
  
He decided not to respond to that comment and went back to the stove, opening the lid of a large pot and stiring whatever was inside with a wooden spoon. "Should be about done," he commented. "You might want to think about setting that table now."  
  
Max skillfully wheeled herself back to the table and set two place settings. Logan followed her, balancing two plates full of some kind of exotic pasta dish and set them on the table. In a minute, he was back with a pitcher of water.  
  
"No wine?" Max exclaimed, in spite of herself.  
  
He looked pointedly at her. "And you still taking analgesics? I don't want to kill you, now -- I've grown kind of attached to you." His tone was kidding, but a thread of truth ran through his words.  
  
Before she could respond, he had poured the water into two glasses garnished with lemon and took his place on the other side of the table.  
  
It was odd, but for some reason, Max hadn't realized that it was sort of redundant to "sit down." That since they were always sitting, all they needed to do was position themselves in front of the food to eat. There was something a little unnerving about that, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. The last thing they needed tonight was more of her anxiety. "Delicious as usual," she commented, savoring her first bite of pasta.  
  
Logan was silent at first, his expression telling her he was thinking about something. "I...just want you to know, Max...that I...well, I never would've wished this--"  
  
"I know," she interrupted him, now placing her hand over his. "I know," she repeated. "I haven't exactly been the best house guest these past few days." She looked at her plate, then back up at him with new resolve. "And I never got a chance to thank you...I mean...you saved my life. Thank you...for that."  
  
"I wasn't going to let you die."  
  
She smiled again, removing her hand and taking a sip from her water glass. "Thank you," she said, sincerely.  
  
He too had resumed eating. "It takes some getting used to," he admitted. "I'd say your  
adjustment time has been above average. Believe it or not, I wasn't always a good  
patient...although I think my expense bill was a lot lower." He put down his fork and leaned on his elbows, pensively. "Let's see...two plates, two glasses, that ugly old lamp from the late nineties in your room..." he commented, enumerating her expenses.  
  
"I'll make it up to you," Max promised, her low tone betraying her simple statement.  
  
After that, they finished their meal in silence. As Max drank the last of her water, Logan cleared her plate and the rest of the dishes from the table. Seeming to forget her previous training, she awkwardly wheeled herself over into the living room and found the stereo hidden in an old oak cabinet. "Nice," she remarked, noting the tape still in the twenty year old machine. Out of curiosity, she hit the play button.  
  
A high warbling sound came out of the scratchy tape player. She saw Logan pause from his place at the sink and then slowly turn around and begin moving towards her, still silent. He stopped in the middle of the floor for a minute and listened.  
  
Not able to take the suspense, Max asked "What is it?"  
  
He didn't speak for a minute longer, then he slowly smiled. "My mom's saxophone music."  
  
"Your mom played the saxophone?"  
  
Logan shook his head. "No, but she loved the music. I remember she'd go to these clubs with my dad... the worst places. Of course, those were always the ones with the best players. And she'd sneak in a little tape recorder and record the concerts so she'd be able to listen to them at home..." He looked lost in the memories, as if he had gone back in time.  
  
There was static from the tape and another song started. Logan took a moment to absorb the music and then turned to the girl in front of him. "Max..." he started. "Do you..want to dance?"  
  
Her eyes lit up for one moment, but the light died as she cast a long look at the two of them. "But, we...can't," she finished, simply.  
  
"Actually, I believe someone once told me anything was possible with mind over matter." He gazed at her and she felt strangely shy.  
  
"I...I...don't know, I..." she trailed off as he approached her chair and situated it so they were as close as they could physically be. Then, he leaned forward, placing one arm around her waist and taking her other hand. Instinctively, she placed her remaining hand on his shoulder and they sat there, swaying from the waist up.  
  
The melody of the music, the darkness of the poorly lit room, the events of the evening settled upon Max and she gave herself over to them, gradually closing her eyes. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she could feel the chair moving with them. She was dancing with Logan for the first time. Dancing...in a wheelchair. There were still many issues to be straightened out about how she could perform her job or help save the world, but for now, she was dancing. Oddly enough, it felt like a miracle. "Logan..." she murmured.  
  
"What?"  
  
Her eyes flew open. She wasn't supposed to say that out loud -- it was supposed to be rhetorical. Now, she had to think of a reason other than utter happiness why she would need his attention."What...what is this song?" she covered quickly.  
  
He gave her a small smile. "A solo saxophone..." he responded, softly. "...Dance like it's the last night of the world..." Her expression warmed and she seemed to glow with affection. "That's from the song..." he clarified.  
  
"I know," she replied, though she really had no idea.  
  
They both leaned forward at the same time, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. That broke the floodgates, as they continued kissing passionately, their hands roaming, their mouths exploring.  
  
Abruptly, Max broke away. "We can't do this..." she stated, her breath coming in short bursts.  
  
"Yes, we can," he contradicted, reaching for her again. They kissed feverishly for another minute before Max pulled back and moved her chair further into the living room.  
  
She tried in vain to catch her breath. "No..." she maintained, weakly, "not tonight. Not like this."  
  
He tried in vain to comprehend her objections, his gaze holding hers as the last notes of the song faded away. "Not like what?"  
  
"This..." Max paused, measuring her words carefully, "This will change things." She paused, trying to craft the best phrase possible. "I want you to...think about it first."  
  
Logan ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath. "Yeah." He looked at her a moment. "Maybe that would be best."  
  
Max nodded. "Sleep with it--on it," she stammered. "And tomorrow...we'll see." Her words sounded like an excuse and she was trying to convince herself to accept it. She manuevered her chair back to where he was in the room and embraced him with a smoldering kiss. "Goodnight, Logan," she whispered, her arms still around his neck.  
  
He brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, and stroked the side of her face with his fingertips."'Night, Max."  
  
She held his gaze for a moment more, before sitting back in her chair and pushing herself  
forward from the living room towards the hallway. She awkwardly turned and wheeled into her room. As she shut the door behind her, she sighed, thinking of dinner and dancing and how it might all seem so insignificant with what might happen tomorrow.  
***  
When Max awoke the next morning, it was because of the unusually bright sunlight filtering through her window and bathing her room in its warmth. She rolled over and as her upper body made contact with the air, she pondered that she had once again fallen out of bed and once again, Bling would have to pick her up off the floor. The floor was so cold today, she shivered involuntarily, and the wood under her feet was so rough...  
  
Wood under her feet?  
  
"Bling!" she called, excited and terrified at the same time. The wood was rough, the wood was rough.  
  
The man appeared at the door and went to pick Max up off the floor, when she shook her head."The wood is rough...Bling, the wood is rough...under my feet." She was able to lift her right foot slightly off the ground to prove her point.  
  
Bling helped her up and sat her on the bed. "Can you move your toes?" he asked.  
  
Max looked down to see three of her toes slowly moving. She looked back up at Bling, nodding enthusiastically. "My feet...I can feel my feet." She moved forward on the bed so her feet were completely on the ground, and began to push herself up. Bling saw what she was doing and steadied her. Her feet planted to the floor, she slowly raised herself up to a standing position, wobbling slightly even under Bling's protective grip of her arms.  
  
"I'm going to try and take my hands away now," he told Max, who nodded in approval. As he removed his hands, Max's arms began flailing about to keep her balance, but after a few moments she had stabilized herself and, though her knees shook slightly, she was standing up.  
  
Bling smiled at her. "I don't believe it," he said, shaking his head. "Look at you, girl!"  
  
She beamed with pleasure. "Told you I could do it," she chided Bling, teasingly.  
  
"Max -- what do you say we have that breakfast?" Logan called as he wheeled down the hallway. "I got some more food and--" He stopped in the doorway, frozen at the sight of her.  
  
With a quick glance to Bling, Max raised one shaking foot slightly off the ground and put it down a few inches in front of her. She did the same with her other foot, slowly moving -- walking -- towards Logan. She stopped in front of him and shrugged her shoulders. "What do you think?" she asked, brightly.  
  
Less than half a second passed before he smiled warmly and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. "Didn't I tell you it would only be temporary?" he told her. "C'mon -- let's have that breakfast to celebrate."  
  
Max nodded, grabbing onto the wall for balance. Scaling the wall, she made her way down the hallway into the kitchen and managed a few wobbly steps to the kitchen chair. Logan sat across from her.  
  
She sat down in the chair and immediately felt foolish. He was being completely wonderful to her, and she had forgotten about how this might affect him. "Logan, I'm sorry -- I didn't mean--"  
  
"There's nothing to be sorry about," he interrupted her, digging into his food. "This is wonderful, wonderful news." He sounded enthusiastic enough, but something still wasn't right.  
  
Slowly, Max picked up her fork and began picking at the food. "I mean, it's not like I'm the same or anything...Bling had to support me when I was standing...and I was holding onto the wall the whole time..."  
  
"Don't trivialize it, Max -- it's quite an accomplishment," he told her, his mouth half full of food.  
  
She decided it would then be best just to remain silent, and they ate the rest of their meal without another word. Logan left immediately after he'd finished clearing the dishes from the table, and Max felt guilty when he had grabbed her plate. After all, she was now the one who could walk to the sink.  
  
Slowly, she hobbled back to her room and was able to shower and change without any help, although it did take her longer than usual. She found, though, that the more she used her legs, the more they started regaining normal function.  
  
When she had dressed and made her way into the living room, she found Bling taking a few bags out the door. "What's going on?" she asked him.  
  
Logan came behind her down the hallway. "We're going home," he said, simply.  
  
She was puzzled. "But...why?"  
  
"'Cause you're all better. And that was the purpose of this excursion."  
  
"And what if I still couldn't walk? What if I never regained feeling in my legs?" she questioned him, a little sharply.  
  
He picked up a bag from the floor and handed it to Bling, who had just come back for more things. "That didn't happen," he answered. "Could you just get your bag from the other room?"  
  
Bewildered, Max did as she was told.  
  
Logan was silent the entire trip back. He didn't put on music, he didn't open the window, he didn't even open his mouth once. He just drove.  
  
When he stopped in front of her building, she refused to get out. "I'm not moving an inch until you level with me," she informed him.  
  
Neither one spoke until Bling finally broke the silence. "I'll...get your bag upstairs, Max," he offered, exiting the vehicle with the extremely manageable duffle bag. It was a poor, but necessary excuse to extricate himself from the situation.  
  
Once Bling had gone into the building, Max turned to her silent driver. "You know I was actually feeling guilty? For a while, I was feeling guilty for being able to walk. Then I realized this is not my fault -- this is your deal, your problem. If you got something to say about my walking, then say it. But this silent treatment is unbecoming, even for you."  
  
He stared at the steering wheel and touched the hand controls. "Cars were not meant to be like this," he commented, glancing at her. "When I was younger, I had this amazing black sportscar...a Porsche. Man, I had so many speeding tickets..." He paused, smiling at the memory. "I loved the feel of an accelerator, just pushing it into the floor and the car flying down the road. I put the top down and just let myself go." He turned his attention back to the steering wheel. "And I'd find some girl who liked my car and she'd hop in and we'd ride all day. I picked up more girls with that car...some that were even like you."  
  
"Here I thought I was the only genetically-engineered killing machine in your life," she replied, her anger receding.  
  
Logan smiled again. "Ever think about where you'd be...if the Pulse hadn't hit?" he asked her.  
  
She considered the question. "Still running, still hiding, I guess."  
  
"See...I think I'd still have that car. Or an even better one. I'd still be cruising around, picking up girls, not giving a damn about anything." He looked directly at her. "If I met you...and the Pulse hadn't hit...you'd have taken a ride in my car by now."  
  
"I'd have stolen your car by now," she corrected him.  
  
He leaned back in the seat and sighed. "Level playing field, Max," he declared. "You and me. While I...never wanted to see you in that chair...I'll admit, I grew kind of attached to the idea. It made us equals, in a way. It made us the same. You weren't out fighting and I wasn't saving the world through a keyboard. We...didn't have to play those roles."  
  
"And now we do. 'Cause I can go back out and fight, so you'll return to saving the world?"  
  
He nodded. "In a way...yeah."  
  
Max was beginning to get agitated again. "So, we just pretend what happened last night never happened? 'Cause now we're back to our roles."  
  
Logan gazed out the window before turning back to face her. "We have to," he admitted. "You need to fight and the world needs to be saved. It's what we do...what we've always done."  
  
"Right." She opened the door and climbed out of the car, then walked over to the driver's side where he had rolled down the window to let in some air. Leaning in, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you for taking care of me," she whispered. "You played that role awfully well."  
  
Before he could respond, she had walked quickly into her building, briefly passing Bling on the way out, up the stairs to her apartment. Kendra wasn't home, but the clothes strewn about the floor indicated her roommate could've possibly had a better time last night than Max did. Though Max wasn't sure if that was possible.  
  
Her eyes lit upon her motorcycle, parked in the middle of the floor with clothes hung on it, against her expressed wishes. Tossing the clothes off, she ran her hands over it, missing the touch of its cool steel and sleek finish. She felt the soft leather seat, and went to sit down on it, but lost her balance and landed on the floor.  
  
She couldn't help but smile. On the floor. It had become so familiar over the past few days. Max falls to the floor. It was like a comedy routine. Then, Bling would come and help her up and carry her back until the next time she fell.  
  
Only there was no Bling. There was no Logan to try in vain to help her up, or sit by her side. She had nobody to rely on but herself. It was perhaps her most familiar role of all.  
  
Quietly, she picked herself up off the floor and sat on the motorcycle. As if by instinct, she reached for the seat adjustment device on the side, twisting the seat down to the lowest it could go. She sat on the motorcycle, trying to remember what the world looked like from a chair, what it felt like to be forced to rely on people, what it was like not to always be the most capable one in the room.  
  
Max put her head down on the handlebars of her motorcycle and wept for the life she lost that she never even knew she'd wanted.  
  
The End.  



End file.
